


Security

by abrandnewboom



Category: SHINee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anorexia, Bodyguard, Bodyguard Romance, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, M/M, Show Business, Top Kim Kibum | Key
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:02:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27573527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abrandnewboom/pseuds/abrandnewboom
Summary: Fresh out of national service, Kibum takes a job as a security guard at the nearby concert stadium. He didn't think he was into popular singers - at least not until he starts spending every work-night ensuring their safety.
Relationships: Kim Kibum | Key/Lee Jinki | Onew
Comments: 9
Kudos: 35





	Security

**Author's Note:**

> An AU for The Bodyguard (1992). Previously published on asianfanfics.com in January 2016 under the username dibidibidisx (yes, I wrote this.)

"Ready for the big night?"

Kibum rolled his eyes and carried on looping his radio receiver through the neck of his work issued button up. The battery pack hung heavy on the back of his pants, threatening to drag them down an inch at every step.

"It's not exactly rocket science," he reminded Minho. "We're basically getting paid to push a bunch of girls around."

Minho's smile inverted, and he tugged at his own battery pack. "We're keeping them safe," he said uncertainly. "So they don't get squashed."

Kibum walked past him to the door of the locker room, pulling it open with a flourish. "Whatever gets you through the next five hours," he shrugged. "I think about how many days there are until pay week, personally."

Minho snorted and followed him out. He was still tucking his shirt into his pants by the time they got to the front of house. Venue staff had just begun to congregate in the shadow of the partially erected stage.

"Security, report here!" A short woman in a smart black pantsuit lifted her arm in the air, her huge voice booming loud enough to never need a megaphone.

"Kibum, Minho, Seunghyo, I'm promoting you to barrier tonight," their manager told them, her voice surprisingly pleasant to listen to when at a humane volume.

"Not door, Hyorin?" Seunghyo said nervously, rubbing his hands over his huge biceps. "Are you sure I'm r-"

"You're ready," Hyorin snapped. "We're short staffed tonight, and this is a big one, so don't let me down."

She glared around their tight semi-circle at each of them in turn.

"Newbies and contractor staff on the doors, drunk tank, and crowd surveillance. The rest of you know what to do. You three-" Hyorin pointed at Kibum, Minho, and Seunghyo with one hand, three fingers extended and jabbing towards each of them, "you come with me for the full briefing from the client."

Seunghyo let out a little whine, but trotted after Hyorin immediately.

"Poor guy. He's been here longer than I have," Minho said to Kibum, whispering behind his hand. "I've seen him stop a riot on his own, but he gets stage fright, you know?"

Kibum grinned to himself. "I knew those muscles were compensating for something," he hissed back, just in time for them to slip into the backstage area and join yet another group of staff.

Minho's eyes widened in mirth, and it was clearly all he could do to keep the guffaw safely inside his mouth.

At first all that Kibum could register was a mass of glaring rhinestones and gold braid. A cluster of young women swept around the dazzling mass, and Kibum blinked. It was a man, just about his own height. He boasted some prodigious arm and thigh musculature that Kibum couldn't hope to achieve, even if he gave up his fondness for ordering a group meat set for himself at BBQ, and started subsisting solely on protein shakes.

A dancer, Kibum assumed, until he tore his eyes away from thighs straining against white satin, and took in a round serious face, eyes lengthened with black liner, and a veritable mane of chin length, coppery hair.

He was tonight's headliner. Onew.

Kibum barely noticed his lip curling until he got a sharp elbow in the soft spot just under his shoulder blade.

He looked up at Minho, and then swiftly to the blond manager guy who was apparently briefing them.

"-no one near the edge of the stage, if they're fainting try to take them off to the sides, as close to the exits as possible. We don't want any climbers, no throwing of gifts, no flash photography whatsoever-"

Kibum raised his eyebrows. He'd wondered why he hadn't seen anyone in a press pass tonight.

"Let's just please make it through the night without a close call," the man said, his hands buried deeply in his own hair, eyes raised to the heavens. "Are we clear on the duties?"

The trio of security nodded.

"Great. Perfect. Wonderful." He took a deep breath. "Okay, for the purposes of communication, let me introduce our heads of staff." He gestured at himself. "I'm Jonghyun, Onew's head manager, and the tour director." He looked less than happy about the titles.

"This is Taemin, our Head Stylist. Taemin, wave?" He waited a moment. "Please, Taemin..."

One of the stylists decorating Onew slowly turned to face them on a three quarter angle.

They weren't just another of the usual friendly fluttering co-ordinators after all, Kibum realised.

Regardless, from behind he certainly blended in well with the butterfly-like stylists who were buzzing around the backstage area. Except for the look of abject derision he was giving them.

That was quite unique to him.

"Thank you. Taemin is in charge if there is a problem with costume," Jonghyun said, having seemingly recovered from Taemin's crippling glare.

Taemin turned back to his work slowly, his hands still roughly pinning safety pins into the underside of Onew's jacket. Kibum winced a little and crossed his arms over his chest in sympathy.

"And this is our Onew, of course," Jonghyun said, voice sweeter than before. He reached out to pat Onew on the shoulder, only to be violently rebuffed via a slap from Taemin.

Jonghyun pursed his lips, but let it go.

"Whatever happens tonight," he carried on strongly, "please remember that Onew is our top priority."

Onew lifted his face from its neutral stance and gifted them with a friendly smile that creased his entire face. "Please look after me," he said politely, bowing as low as he could against the prick of Taemin's pins.

Kibum could feel Minho nodding energetically at his side, and Seunghyo making earnest promises of piety. 

Oddly enough, Kibum felt much like doing the same.

  


The concert was explosive.

That was the only way Kibum could explain it. Despite having his earpiece jammed tightly into his ear canals, things just kept /exploding/ around him. Fireworks from practically every angle, entire teams of dancers leaping onto the sprung stage out of the blue, the maxed out percussion from Onew's top 40 hits.

Kibum had thought accidentally leaving his earmuffs off during firing practice would be the loudest mistake he'd ever make in his life, and he'd been wrong. Turning down Minho's offer of earplugs tonight took the win.

He endured, alternating between checking his barriers and crowd section, and ensuring everything seemed alright on the stage. It was hard to know, with the way Onew and his dancers moved so quickly and violently. It seemed like they were liable to snap their necks or rupture something at any moment. Kibum wasn't sure he'd seen Onew stand in one place for more than three seconds at a time. And then there was the stage: it moved and transformed mysteriously under their feet as if it was enchanted.

It seemed tiring for even the seasoned professionals; at the intermission when the lights came up the dancers disappeared into the wings in a flash, hands pressed into the smalls of their backs, some limping on elevated shoes.

Onew was the last to drop his pose, and he took advantage of the comparatively darkened stage to also limp to the edge of stage right, where he dropped into an uncomfortable crouch.

"I'm so sorry," he said to Kibum. "But please, would you mind helping me down?"

Kibum nodded automatically, utterly dazzled by the way the idol's eyes curled into smiling crescents as he agreed.

"My shoes," Onew said, by way of explanation. "Apparently they really work with this outfit, but I guess my feet aren't qualified for the position."

Kibum almost snorted at the awful metaphor as he slid his hands carefully under Onew's armpits and pulled him gently over the edge of the stage.

"It's only a blood blister," Onew smiled, safely on the ground. He tested out the pressure on his foot, and almost managed to hide a wince of pain. "Better inside me than out."

"Is that what your mother always said?" Kibum said dryly. "Come here." He picked Onew up, lifting him by the waist until he was high enough that Key could get one arm under the idol's skinny legs and the other around his warm back.

"My parents are butchers," Onew said, in a confused voice that Kibum couldn't quite decide was part of the joke.

He delivered Onew safely into the hands of Taemin's perfect storm of wardrobe staff, and stepped back into the stage door to keep an eye on the crowd, seeing as that was his actual job.

Not ten minutes later the house lights dropped again, and Kibum lifted a surprised head at the sudden commotion, only to see Onew charging back onstage again, this time in slightly different but equally ridiculous shoes.

He reached for his earpiece. "Come in Minho..."

"Minho here, go ahead."

"Hey, can you watch my section for a minute? Kibum out."

"Affirmative," was the slightly curious reply, "Minho out."

Kibum dropped his hand and peeked back into the makeshift wardrobe area he'd delivered Onew into.

"Hey," Kibum said awkwardly to the stylist he'd seen safety-pinning Onew's jacket onto him earlier. He was sitting in a folding chair now, staring into the distance as an entire entourage of girls swirled around him, chattering and stuffing hangers into costume pieces.

The stylist tilted his head ever so slightly, but made no other indication that he was listening.

Kibum huffed, but went on. "Is he, you know, okay?"

A slightly more protracted head tilt.

"Onew..." Kibum clarified slowly. "I just had to carry him off the stage, and they're sending him right back on? Is that like...?" Kibum lifted his hands skyward in the absence of an appropriate way to describe his disbelief.

The stylist blinked. "Yeah," he shrugged. "PVC shoes. That's pretty normal."

Kibum stared, mouth slightly open. "Oh-kay," he said finally. "I'll just be - at my station, then. Thanks." He turned and left the green room, holding the door open for a short scurrying man he recognised as some kind of manager from earlier.

The concert was as loud as ever on the other side of the stage door. The fans were howling, and Onew was only talking breathily into his mic as the stagehands finished their next set up.

"I hope you're having a lovely night," he said. "I can tell you are a crowd blessed with energy!"

The fans answered with predictable vigour as Onew laughed softly into the mic.

Kibum walked around the perimeter, tapping Minho on the butt as he passed him at front of stage centre.

"All good?" Minho mouthed at him, glancing back to check the state of the barriers in between each syllable.

Kibum nodded and shot him a thumbs up, walking on to his spot on the other side of the stage.

He shook his closest barrier, finding it solid as a rock and practically clean of hangers on. The fans tended to cluster around center stage, somehow under the impression that Onew would be spending most of his time front and centre. Silly, Kibum thought, resting his back against the secure barrier for a moment. The side stage had a great view of Onew's profile, and the crew had stowed the majority of his stage props and water bottles at this end too.

Like clockwork, Jinki came to kneel at the side of the stage between every song, breaking open a water bottle with small hands and downing the little 500ml vessels in a single gulp. Occasionally he met Kibum's gaze as he swallowed, and gave him a quick smile despite having his lips fitted tightly around the neck of the bottle.

Kibum would just nod and turn away, trying to project the image of having everything on this side of the stage under control. The truth was that fans on stage right were either sitting properly in their seats mouthing along to the ballads as they should be, or had migrated long ago to overfill Minho's section. There wasn't much for Kibum to do beyond casting his eye over the crowd for fainters (Minho's section was having a bit of a bonanza), and, well, watching over Onew.

That wasn't strictly his job, Kibum knew, but every dance break had Onew swaying a little harder as he sipped his water with eyes mostly closed. Kibum checked his orange vintage Baby-G watch, using the light up function. Twenty more minutes to get through before Onew could leave the stage, Kibum could sign out, and this ridiculous, unnecessary weight could fall off of his shoulders.

After a final eight minute long, utterly excruciating remix medley of Onew's most popular power-ballads to date came to an equally excruciating finale (and by excruciating, Kibum was referring to the frequency and temporal proximity of Onew's hundreds of squats, rises, rhythmic hip circles, and body rolls in some frighteningly sweat-soaked white pants), Onew and his dancers froze in place and the lights went down. The crowd exploded in thunderous applause that shook the concrete ground beneath Kibum's very feet.

An enormous screen began to lower itself around the stage, cutting the security barrier area in half. There was a crackle over Kibum's radio.

"Kibum, stay stage side and watch for interlopers. I've got the crowd control. Minho out."

"Affirmative. Kibum out." Kibum replied, sidling close to the stage as the curtain dropped its final couple of metres to brush against the ground. It was immediately quieter, somehow. Some kind of sound curtain, Kibum supposed.

With the noise of the crowd diminished, Kibum could actually hear himself think, which was a nice change. He could also hear the soft sound of someone dropping to their cloth covered knees with a barely audible sigh.

Kibum turned to find Onew at the edge of the stage again. He wasn't perched this time so much as he was kneeling almost prostrate over the edge. Onew's knees were just peeking over the lip of the stage, thighs straining at nearly transparent trousers. One of his hands was clutching at the filthy stage surface, while the other loosely held a still sealed water bottle. His makeup was practically melting off of him, and Kibum could only imagine how painful it had to be for him to hold back from wiping at his face.

"Here," Kibum said desperately. He reached up his arms as he had earlier. "I've got you. I'll get you down."

Onew practically slid into his grip this time, boneless with exhaustion. Kibum hiked his passenger over his shoulder a little in a fireman's lift, one arm sliding automatically around to lock just under a firm set of buttocks.

Never had Kibum been gladder to have mastered lifts and holds during his time in service. He'd never expected to have to use one outside of a military combat or rescue situation, but he'd have to write to his sergeant and apologise for his misplaced doubt.

"Let's get you backstage, shall we?" Kibum gabbed mindlessly, trying to move as swiftly as possible without rattling Onew any further.

Onew's only answer was a gust of warm breath across the nape of Kibum's neck that had goosebumps rising on him from head to toe despite the oppressive heat of the stadium.

He carried him backstage again, bypassing Taemin and his vultures this time to set him on a battered sofa in the green room.

"Thank you," Onew murmured as he laid him down.

Kibum pulled back and straightened the cuffs of his uniform shirt. "Just doing my job," he said, lamely.

Taemin's assistants descended. Kibum stared briefly at the mass of people tugging Onew's clothes off of him. The tight pants began to come off, and Kibum turned smartly on his heel and left, fighting down a blush.

His earpiece crackled.

"Drinks? Minho out."

"Maybe not tonight," Kibum answered, wandering back to the main floor.

He saw Minho standing by Hyorin in the centre as cleaners worked around them, picking up handfuls of empty bottles and broken lightsticks.

Minho slapped him on the back when he'd picked his own way over. "You forgot your callsign," he scolded.

Hyorin glared up at him from her clipboard.

"Kibum out," he said quickly. "What are we doing tomorrow?"

"Onew again," Hyorin muttered, crossing something off her list with a slicing motion. "It's Onew all week, he sold out and they added more shows."

"All week?" Kibum said in disbelief, "can he- can they even do that? I think I'd die."

"Luckily you don't work in the entertainment industry," Hyorin said. She held her hand out for their earpieces. "Good work tonight, kids. The clients were very happy."

The following nights were much the same as the first, with the exception that Onew's limping became more and more pronounced. By Friday, the last night on the schedule in the security breakroom, Kibum had to climb onto the stage at every intermission to carry Onew firstly to his water bottle, then backstage to have his bloody feet mopped up and re-dressed, then back to his starting place on the stage.

Minho tagged him at the end of the first intermission as he slid back down into their patrol area. "I can get him next time. You need a break from fetching and carrying."

"No," Kibum assured him swiftly. "No, it's fine. He weighs a lot less than he looks."

Minho nodded, eyebrows lifting. "I didn't know you were an MVP," he smiled, sidling back into position.

"A what?" Kibum asked, but the house lights were already going down.

The tour closed successfully (if successful meant that Kibum was 99 percent certain that Onew had passed out for a couple of seconds during an instrumental bridge), and Kibum was almost wistful as he laid Onew on their usual sofa.

"Do you always work here?" Onew asked in his quiet melodious voice.

Kibum had to think hard about the sentence a couple of times before he registered that it was actually directed at him.

"Uh, yeah. Full time. I'm not a temp."

"That's good," Onew smiled.

Kibum didn't take up Minho's offer of a drink that night; his back was killing him. He settled for a bowl of instant ramen and a conservative bedtime of 1am. With no work the next day, Kibum let himself pull the blinds, apply overnight eye cream, and shut his eyes without even thinking about setting the alarm on his phone.

It was something else entirely that found Kibum wide awake at seven o'clock in the morning with cloudy memories of warm thighs and soft hair impressed into the back of his mind, and a load of washing he hadn't planned on tackling this week.

When Sunday morning's mess (small hands, fatigued gasps for breath) threatened to test the capabilities of his ancient front loader, Kibum threw in the towel (or more accurately, his last threadbare bedsheet), and texted Minho back. Getting too drunk to get it up sounded constructive at this point.

"I'm not an MVP," Kibum whined, slapping Minho's hands away from his wallet.

"I bet you've got your fan club card in there," Minho teased, rolling back and forward on his stool in barely suppressed hysterics.

Work at least exhausted him enough to sleep solidly through the night most weekdays, but the weekends were a problem. Kibum regretted watching so many of Onew's karaoke shows, but they were addictive, even though Kibum had no idea who the other guests were, and Onew was endlessly effervescent, just like he'd been in real life.

Drinks with Minho became a thing.

He was possibly the most annoying person Kibum had ever met, but it made them a well matched pair, especially when it came to drunkenly taunting each other at the bar in between shouting each other bottle after bottle of soju.

Kibum had never been much for making friends with workmates, but Minho was alright. He always tipped him off about upcoming opportunities for overtime, a favour that kept both Kibum's modest watch collection and his landlord satisfied.

"Overtime coming up," Minho sang out. He gestured to Kibum with his glass. "Not that you'll even need to sign up. You've been on the list for weeks." He shot Kibum a sloppy wink.

Kibum frowned over the lip of his own glass. "What are you talking about, dummy?"

"September, Onew's Nightlight Tour," Minho chuckled, flagging down the bartender pre-emptively. "You've been specially requested."

Kibum fumbled his glass and hurriedly raised his hand for another drink, valiantly ignoring Minho's smirk.

"Well, that's good," he said into the neck of the bottle as soon as it arrived. "I could use the overtime."

  


Four weeks of kicking Minho in the ankle whenever he brought up the Nightlight tour at work, the bar, and in his incessant and badly spelled text messages, and Kibum was almost wishing there wasn't going to be a tour.

Minho's hype combined with a few too many late night YouTube sessions of Onew performing soulful ballads (Kibum didn't even /like/ ballads) on misty sets had somehow turned Onew from some injured guy at work with an arguably better ass than his own, into a mythical creature who probably cried pearls and only drank dew.

In short, it was the evening of opening night, and Kibum was feeling shy.

They weren't introduced this time, Hyorin instead assigning them the same stations they'd occupied during the last tour.

"Rainy bluuuue," Minho crooned over the radio, directly into Kibum's earpiece. "Minho out!"

Kibum squeezed his eyes shut for five seconds and then did his best to ungrit his teeth. "Please use the radio strictly for informative reasons. Kibum out."

Hyorin's voice snapped over the radio before Minho could heckle him again. "Kibum is correct. Hyorin out."

Kibum turned his head very slightly to smile at Minho, who was leaning with one foot on his barriers, face like a lemon.

Onew was beautiful, and when the blue lights came up on him for his first song, it hit Kibum like a truck. He had to turn his back entirely to keep from losing minutes at a time to Onew's wide open pink mouth, the tiny fingers wrapped around his microphone, the way his eyes slipped shut when he belted out a high note.

The intermissions however, were unavoidable. Onew spotted him immediately when the lights went down, his eyes creasing up into a grin as he hobbled over for his water. Kibum couldn't help but open the bottle for him.

“Hi,” he said, casually.

Onew took the bottle and swallowed the lot, balancing with his weight on one foot at a time.

“I'm glad you're back,” Onew said afterwards, patting self consciously at his mouth for droplets that weren't there.

Kibum smiled back, uncertain as to what kind of small talk might be acceptable. “I see they haven't stopped putting you in those stupid shoes,” he tried, immediately regretting it.

To his relief, Onew laughed, politely lifting his hand to cover his open mouth. “They look good though, don't they?” He hopped lightly from foot to foot, playing up his wince of pain with each landing.

“Stop that!” Kibum told him, trying to suppress his own twitching smile. “Do you want me to have to carry you for the whole performance?”

Onew stopped hopping, and his cheeks pinkened slightly under his makeup. “Could you?”

Kibum blinked, and looked down at his unflattering guard's uniform, then back up at Onew. “No one wants to hear this voice,” he joked, trying not to look too deeply into Onew’s comment.

“I would!” Onew said, and skipped back to his mark for the opening notes of his next performance.

Kibum turned himself right around until the next intermission, when Onew smiled earnestly but could only just drink his water, he was so winded.

Kibum had to wonder whether Onew had just come back from a long holiday without his former stamina, because the idol was breaking a sweat like he'd never seen before.

When the lights came down for the halfway intermission, Onew practically fell into his arms, sucking in deep breaths the whole way back to the green room. Kibum stood by nervously, trying not to watch as Taemin's minions disrobed him and scolded him for sweating even as he gasped for air, elbow on his knees, chin propped on a makeup artist’s palm.

Then he carried Onew (newly dressed, though they hadn't had the time to rebandage his feet) back to his mark and abandoned him to another ninety minutes of performance.

Minho came to Kibum during Rainy Blue under the guise of doing a full sweep of his front section.

“You okay?” He said, brows furrowed, hand pressed over his mouthpiece to avoid alerting any other guards.

Kibum nodded, staring straight out into the sea of bobbing blue stars. “Only two songs left.”

Minho stared out with him momentarily, scanning for heatstroke victims. “He's not looking good,” Minho said, finally.

“No,” Kibum agreed, glancing backwards just in case they'd baited fate too far. “It's almost over though, I think he can finish up.”

“Tomorrow…” Minho said hesitantly.

Kibum nodded again, determined.

The next night was ten times worse, a possibility Kibum would never have even considered had he not seen Onew perform several times before.

Onew fell to his knees midway through In Your Eyes, one small hand pressed to the stage floor the only point holding him up. Somehow he recovered and kept singing, face upturned under the white lights. Kibum stepped back from the edge of the stage.

“Check in. Minho out,” Kibum’s radio crackled.

“Fine,” Kibum answered, glancing at the fans pressed against the barrier behind him. “Kibum out.”

It seemed like an hour before the first intermission, although it was more like fifteen minutes.

The lights dropped, and with them, Kibum saw Onew dropping. He vaulted the stage and slid through a pack of departing back-up dancers, managing somehow to catch Onew's elbow before he fell flat on his face.

“I'm fine, I'm fine,” Onew insisted, despite reaching for Kibum's other arm.

“Shoes off,” Kibum said, ignoring Onew’s frown of disapproval.

“I'm not off stage yet,” he protested, leaning almost his entire weight on Kibum’s forearm. “It's rude!”

“True,” Kibum agreed, “But do you know what else is rude?”

Onew gave him a smile, waiting for the punchline.

“Bleeding through eight hundred dollar shoes.”

Onew frowned in disappointment.

Kibum grabbed the crooks of his knees, one leg at a time, and pulled the heavy avant garde shoes off gently. They fell to the stage in thumps.

“Let's go,” Kibum said, picking Onew up as usual, noting with increasing concern the contrast of his thin bird-like ankles to the built up musculature of his thighs.

Second intermission was everything Kibum had suspected and dreaded.

Onew ended a song in a choreographed crouch and did not rise for two long minutes in the dark. Kibum picked him up as he was and carried him, still curled like a baby, to the green room, his heart in his throat.

Taemin bit his lip when he saw him, which was practically an admission of terror, from what Kibum had seen of the kid when it came to externalised expressions.

“Jonghyun,” he called out, beckoning to his wardrobe attendants.

They unbuttoned Onew’s jacket gently and - Kibum couldn't believe what he was seeing - began to dress him in the next scheduled change of clothes.

“Hang on,” Kibum interrupted Taemin. He got nothing out of him beyond a flap of hands.

Jonghyun finally arrived, face haggard in the dim backstage lighting. “What's the problem, Taemin?”

“This is the problem,” Kibum interjected, stabbing his forefinger at the flurry of assistants easing Onew’s prone body into a powder blue rhinestone-studded jacket with an escharpe sash draped across it from shoulder to mid thigh. It looked like they were dressing a doll, or maybe a corpse.

Taemin sighed deeply. He left them to it, and pushed his way through to softly brush Onew’s hair out of his eyes.

“This is perfectly normal,” Jonghyun said, in a pained tone. “It's just overheating.”

Luckily for the desperately hopeful sounding manager, Onew began to stir under the tickle of Taemin’s makeup brushes.

“Which song are we up to?” He slurred, sitting up with some difficulty.

“Never mind that,” Kibum said, unable to control his mouth.

Taemin turned and gave him a nasty look.

“Farewell My Love,” Jonghyun told Onew. “It was great, but you were a little long in the crouch.”

Onew smiled faintly. “My shoes?”

“Right here,” Taemin said, holding up some silver glitter covered creepers. “These are the tight ones, okay?”

Onew stuck his feet out immediately, and Taemin and an assistant started prying them over the stained bandages that swaddled his toes.

Kibum swallowed down a wave of nausea and turned away. “I can't believe you're making him do this,” he said to the room at large, no longer caring whether it got him written up for subordination.

“We're not making him do anything,” Taemin hissed at him, distracted momentarily from carefully tying Onew's shoelaces.

“Whatever,” Kibum said, striding to the door, where he realised that he would have to come back to carry Onew back to the stage.

Onew was still sweating through his newly applied makeup when he picked him up this time. He clung to the back of his uniform shirt, fingers pushing through the fabric with the strength of a desperate man.

Kibum entertained thoughts of bypassing the stage, eying the fire doors right of the stage.

“You don't have to,” Kibum offered lamely, black boot just resting on the cusp of the stage.

Onew chuckled, his overwarm body shaking against Kibum's chest. “Good one,” he said, and then his attention was gone, and Kibum could feel him leaning towards centre stage, his hands unwinding their grip on his shoulders.

Kibum let him down with reluctance, watching in apprehension as Onew shuffled into position on the lowered trapdoor that would launch him into the air in less than thirty seconds.

Kibum sprinted off stage as the lighting began to change, repressing a sudden awareness of tens of thousands of fierce eyes glinting in the broiling stadium. He could almost hear them tapping their feet in impatience as the sound system kicked into gear, and Onew hurtled into the air.

He managed to stick the landing, and Kibum was impressed despite his concern.

The rising platforms however, were an entirely different obstacle. Onew was visibly limping from mark to mark, and he missed three moving platforms in a row. Eventually he climbed onto a slow narrow one and began to ascend, swaying gently as he sang with his eyes closed. The platform didn't even have a backing rail.

Kibum flicked his transmitter on, head shaking in disbelief.

“Hyorin, please, put Kim Jonghyun on the line immediately, or I'll come back there and get him myself. Kibum out.”

The radio buzzed immediately. “Consider this your first formal warning, Kibum. I won't be addressed like that. Hyorin out.”

"He needs to stop," Kibum hissed into his receiver, "if this goes on, he'll fall off a riser and break his neck!"

The line crackled for a few minutes and Kibum could hear faintly hear Taemin muttering insistently in the background.

"Fine," Jonghyun’s tired voice finally broke through the static. "We’re going to cut the sound. Bring him in." He cut out of the conversation with a screech of feedback that had Kibum wincing, and Minho and the other security guards all scrambling for the volume controls on their battery packs.

The music faded out suddenly, and the house lights began to come up. Dancers froze in place until their stage managers appeared in the wings and beckoned them backstage.

Onew paused for the first time in an hour, swaying slightly in place. He had to take a couple of steps to keep his feet under him. Kibum was certain he was about to fall down.

He pressed his hands on the side of the stage and vaulted up with a grunt. "Let's take a break," he called out to Onew, approaching him with his palms turned upwards.

Onew glanced at him in confusion, and then he seemed to see the crowd properly for the first time. His eyes widened and he reeled backwards slightly. Kibum couldn't blame him. Sometimes he felt like the 20,000 strong crowds were seconds from pouring down and crushing him, too.

"Let's go, Onew," he said gently, reaching out to offer Onew a hand. In any other situation, he would have simply lifted Onew and carried him to safety, but Kibum had a feeling that Jonghyun might take exception to implying that Onew was on death's door in front of 20,000 already pissed off fans. Not a great look for an entertainment agency.

Onew blinked, focussing on Kibum with difficulty. "Oh?" He said, brow wrinkled over dilated pupils. "Am I to go with you now?"

"Yes, Onew," Kibum said, waiting patiently as Onew placed his trembling hand into Kibum's palm. Kibum immediately felt him sag into the sole point of contact, and knew that, given another 30 seconds, Onew would likely be on the floor.

"Watch your step," he said, making a show of pretending to lead Onew safely through the mess of props to the gap that marked the nearest backstage door. In reality he was practically dragging him, hoping that velocity would keep Onew upright for the next ten metres.

"Medic!" Kibum shouted, overcome by force of habit. "I mean, uh. Do you have a doctor on staff?"

A swarm of staff surrounded Onew suddenly, and Kibum stepped back in relief, only to squint in dissatisfaction as a drink bottle was pressed to Onew's lips while wardrobe staff roughly stripped away the heavy layers of costume and couture.

"Okay, take five," Jonghyun wailed, passing Onew by with no more than a slap on the shoulder. "I'll see if we can get them to accept another short intermission."

"What?" Kibum said, stunned.

Onew dropped heavily into a crouching position, resting his forehead on a nearby amplifier case.

Jonghyun began to speak loudly to the crowd.

It didn't go down well, judging by the violent uproar that followed. He came back in in a hurry, sweat visible on his brow. "Never again," he muttered to himself as he crouched beside Onew, pressing the back of his hand to the idol's cheek.

Minho came in the side entrance, finger pressed to his earpiece.

"It's bad," Minho reported, glancing behind him every now and then to check they they weren't yet overrun. "I think we need to evacuate the performers. They're baying for blood."

"Can't you just do a little encore?" Jonghyun begged, "Say goodbye?"

Minho's eyes widened. "I really don't think-"

"....have.....wonderful night..." Onew mumbled, rocking forward slightly.

"That's the spirit!" Jonghyun said, clapping. "Can you sing? Perhaps just a chorus..."

A massive crash rang out from the stage, and guards started shouting angrily. One of the barriers must have come loose and admitted a handful of overzealous fans.

"He should see a doctor," Kibum interrupted loudly, staring Jonghyun down.

"Oh my god," Jonghyun said, eyes wild and flicking between Onew's bloodless hands and the mob of security reinforcements wrestling the crowd back behind their barriers. "Just fucking go, Jesus... I'll meet you at Seoul General when I've dealt with this shitstorm."

"You go ahead and hail a taxi," Kibum said to Minho. "We'll go out the back door."

Minho nodded and ran ahead.

"Okay, Onew. I need you to hold on just a little longer," Kibum promised, stooping to gather Onew in a cradled fashion that was starting to feel all too familiar.

"Of course," Onew agreed, smiling through tight lips and eyelids squeezed shut in pain.

Kibum walked faster.

  


They sat awkwardly in the waiting room, Onew still leaning heavily on Kibum's side with his eyes closed. Some of his eye makeup had smeared, from sweat or tears of pain, Kibum wasn't certain. He averted his eyes and focused on the clipboard the nurse had handed him.

Patient's name.

"ONEW" he scrawled before pausing. What was his family name? Was Onew even his legal name? He shrugged it off and continued down the form.

Address, home phone, email, insurance provider, next of kin contact details, form of payment. Kibum sighed and instead just ticked YES to "Did the accident, illness or injury occur at your place of work?"

He turned the page over. These ones they might be able to answer.

"Onew," Kibum said, jostling him gently with his shoulder.

Onew snapped his eyes open and made an aborted attempt to sit upright.

"Hello, my name is Onew. I hope we have a wonderful night together..." He whispered, lifting his fist halfheartedly.

Kibum stared. He could feel his ears burning slightly in embarrassment.

"Wow," Minho sighed from Onew's other side. He had his chin in his hands. "He's really dedicated."

"And delirious," Kibum muttered, taking Onew's raised hand gently in his own and lowering it to his over-warm thigh.

He took up the clipboard again and ticked the YES boxes next to "Are you having difficulty keeping track of time or location?" and "Do you have a fever or are you sweating more than you ordinarily do?"

"Can you give this to the nurse?" Kibum asked, handing Minho the clipboard.

He held Onew up while Minho bowed and scraped before the nurse at the desk, having to catch the idol a couple of times as he swayed from side to side. Eventually he gave in, and guiltily turned and pulled Onew to rest against his chest.

He was just keeping Onew safe and comfortable, he reassured himself. Jonghyun wouldn't be happy if he let his star idol fall onto the hospital floor.

The suggestive eyebrow quirk that Minho shot him as he returned stopped that delusion in its tracks, unfortunately.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Kibum furiously ignoring Minho's pointed stares at how Onew's delicate hands had come to rest on Kibum's upper thigh and waist respectively, or the way Onew moaned in complaint when Kibum shifted his chest away from his cheek momentarily.

Eventually a couple of orderlies trundled over with a bed and a doctor in tow.

"Onew?" the doctor said, frowning at his clipboard.

"This is him," Minho said, pointing.

Kibum wrestled Onew up and onto the stretcher bed with some help from the hospital staff, somewhat reluctant to let Onew go.

"Huh," the doctor said, fiddling with his glasses, "it really is Onew." He smiled apologetically at Kibum and Minho. "We had a bit of a bet going that it would just be another drunk fresh out of the karaoke bar next door."

Kibum frowned, and the doctor bowed his head and rushed the stretcher bed off down a long white hall.

Minho and Kibum sat down again.

"You know," Minho said, once Onew had disappeared around a corner, "I was almost an idol."

He tilted his head and fluttered his eyes at Kibum. "I used to get scouted every time I left the house, but I ran too fast for the creepy old guy that wanted to sign me up." He kicked his feet up on the seat of the chair opposite them. "Guess I was just lucky."

"Shut up," Kibum said. He pulled out his phone and opened the Angry Birds app. "You can go home if you want."

Minho did go home in the end, but not until Hyorin called him, and he nodded soberly as she talked for about ten minutes straight, nodding and grunting assent to everything she said.

"Onew's manager is coming, and he has your number just in case," Minho informed Kibum eventually, clutching his phone to his shoulder to muffle Hyorin's grumbling.

Kibum glanced at his phone and sighed as an unknown number came up. He pressed the answer button.

"Kim Kibum speaking," he greeted Jonghyun.

"Kibum, Kibum, thank you for looking after Onew, I might be late, uhh." There was a crackle in the line and what sounded like a lot of doors slamming.

"Hello?" Kibum said, frustrated.

"Yah, I'm here, uh, anyway, I have to sort all this stuff out since Onew kind of left us in the lurch here. Some of the fans still won't leave, and I have to see the CEO like right now, so."

There was the unmistakable sound of a car starting, "You've been great, Kibum, and your manager will be handling the overtime and everything, so if you can just get Onew discharged and home, that would be perfect, just tell them to charge any costs to me, under the company's name."

"Wait," Kibum said, "but you said-"

"Thanks so much, Kibum!"

The line went dead. Kibum pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at the screen in disbelief.

"Okay, goodnight, boss." Minho said, hanging up almost simultaneously. "Overtime pay!" He said to Kibum, lifting his hand for a high five. It quickly lowered when he saw Kibum's stormy expression. "Bad news...?" He ventured.

"That guy Jonghyun is just unbelievable," Kibum hissed, folding his arms across his chest and settling in.

Minho shoved his phone into his back pocket and lifted his hands in a placating gesture. "Wow, it must suck to be a hot idol's favourite security guard," he shrugged, unable to hide his smirk. "Enjoy that double time, man."

"Whatever," Kibum said, swatting Minho away. "Go home already."

"Mr Kim?" the doctor called. Kibum sat up with a start. He'd just been on the verge of dropping into sleep.

"Yes," he answered, standing up and bowing in acknowledgement. "How is Onew?"

The doctor rifled through the print outs on his clipboard, frowning.

"Fine, now we've got some fluids into him, but it's a good thing you brought him in," the doctor said to Kibum. "His hypotension is really getting to be a problem. I'm hoping you can talk some sense into him."

Kibum blinked heavy eyelids. "Um, okay?"

"Will you be taking him home today?"

"Uh," Kibum glanced at his phone, where a glowing box was informing him that Jonghyun had texted him the address of an uptown apartment complex. "Yeah, I guess we'll get a taxi."

"Great," the doctor said, slapping the clipboard cover closed. "Then do us all a favour and clear out his bathroom cabinets. These idols..."

Kibum stared at him. "You want me to what?"

"No need to play dumb, Kim Jonghyun," the doctor frowned, "now get that poor kid out of my ER."

He tucked the clipboard under his arm and strode back to the nurse's station, where he disappeared into a back room.

Kibum blinked and pocketed his flashing phone. "Wrong Kim," he said to himself, shaking his head.

"Mr Kim?" The nurse called. "Mr Onew is ready to go home now."

They wheeled him out and Kibum had to clench his hands into fists to avoid immediately snatching the handles of the wheelchair out of the orderly's mitts. Onew looked worse than he had before Kibum had brought him in. There was a fat white sticking plaster on the back of his hand as well as in his elbow, and the skin under his closed eyes was purple and sunken.

It wasn't until they rolled closer that Kibum realised that actually, someone had wiped off Onew's stage makeup. This sick, pallid face, despite it's undeniably pretty features, was what Onew looked like possibly all the time.

"Here you are," the nurse said cheerily. "He took in a whole bag of saline like a good boy, and now he's all rehydrated and ready to rock and roll!"

Kibum could beg to differ, but he didn't waste time arguing. They waited beside the sliding doors until the taxi pulled up, and then Kibum scooped Onew up yet again, and arranged him gently in the back of the cab.

Thankfully, Onew's apartment was extremely accessibility friendly, and came complete with a doorman who didn't even blink as he held the doors open for Kibum to carry in the unconscious body of the nation's most famous pop star. How often had he seen this happen, Kibum wondered.

Kibum had memorised the full address in the taxi, so he knew to hit floor 52 in the plush lift. He looked at their reflections in the inset mirrors on the way up. He looked like a cross off-duty cop in his uniform, with his hair coming free of the gel. Onew looked like a young teenager in his arms, his ankles bony where they dangled from the ends of his sweatpants. He still had hospital slippers on, Kibum noticed. There were bandages peeping out of them, which was a relief. At least the doctors were thorough, even if Kibum had no idea what he was doing.

The door snicked open and a whole bank of lights snapped on immediately as Kibum keyed in the last digit of the passcode. He didn't know what he'd expected from Onew’s home. It was certainly bigger than Kibum's military-neat studio, but it wasn't exactly palatial either. He walked straight into a simple wooden floored living room from the doorway. There were three doors on the opposite wall, presumably bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen.

Kibum weighed up laying Onew out on his pristine cream sofa versus invading his bedroom. Guilt lay either way, so he sighed and hitched Onew higher as he opened the first doorway, closest to the wall of windows to his left.

A soft light popped on as they entered, and Kibum blinked and peered around what was certainly a bedroom, suddenly paranoid that he was about to walk in on a secret...spouse or something.

The bedroom was stubbornly bare. The only thing of interest beyond the modest but extremely inviting bed was a lopsided clothing rack stacked with perhaps a week's worth of intricately matched outfits and designer coats. There were belts, watches, bracelets and rings glinting from their own hangers.

Kibum deposited Onew gently onto the bed, rolling him until the plain white covers were loose and neatly pulled over him. Onew made a soft sigh in his sleep, nuzzling into his pillow. Kibum couldn't help but smile, lips pressed together to suppress a chuckle.

The job well done, he stretched, cricking his back and neck, and crept out of the bedroom, resisting the urge to examine the glittering timepieces waiting on Onew's clothing rack.

Not even a clock was ticking in the living room, it was so bare. Kibum shrugged and tried doors until he found a spotless stainless steel kitchen.

He eyed up the stovetop and the untouched pots and pans dangling above it with envy. The cupboards above the sink were lined with crystal glasses and plain white mugs. Kibum took a glass down and filled it at the tap before nodding to himself and fetching another down for Onew.

He gulped down his own water and then another glass too, then placed it awkwardly beside the sink, rendering it the only lonely thing in the apartment out of neat order.

Thirst quenched, Kibum officially ran out of petty distractions. The emergency room doctor’s admonishment was still ticking away in the back of his skull.

“Fine,” Kibum muttered to himself. He proceeded to the only room in the apartment he hadn't visited.

The bathroom was modest to the point of bleakness. The only things that weren't permanent fixtures was a orange toothbrush and tube of whitening toothpaste on the opposite side of the basin to a pump bottle of hand soap.

Kibum began to hope that the cabinet might be similarly bare.

Of course, he was incorrect.

The cabinet was packed full of supplies. There were bandages and dressings both tightly wrapped and unravelling in every tight corner, numerous half squeezed tubes of antiseptic cream, swabs, nail scissors, and bottle after bottle of pills stacked on one another. It looked like Onew had half a pharmacy jammed in there.

Kibum reached out for a couple of bottles. The dispensary label was made out to LEE J. Part of Onew’s real name, he supposed. Some bottles seemed fairly ordinary. The same names of antibiotics Kibum had also been prescribed when he'd had flu. Some, however were almost plain, without Onew’s name stuck to them.

Heart sinking a little in pre-knowledge, Kibum dug in his pocket for his phone. He opened Safari and typed the bolded name of the pills into the search bar.

Kibum pursed his lips. Always being right was a curse sometimes. He altered his search terms, hesitantly adding “abuse”. The first promising link was from a URL called eatingdisordersonline.com, something Kibum tried to push to the back of his mind for the time being.

  
Kibum skimmed through the write up, gnawing absently at his lower lip.

Kibum looked from his handful of bottles to the toilet bowl to his right. He shook his head and put them back, stacking everything as he'd found it. He didn't look any further. He'd pass the message on to Jonghyun, and hopefully he'd act on it if he truly cared for his star’s well being.

The light in the bathroom clicked itself off as he exited, which was still so weird to Kibum. He kept automatically slapping at smooth switchless walls.

There was a noise from the bedroom as he headed for the sofa, and Kibum froze, thanking God that he'd left the bathroom. The bedroom door was still barely cracked, as he'd left it, so he sidled through the gap to check in.

Onew seemed fine, though he'd turned over in his sleep and kicked his blankets into a tangled mess.

The overhead light came up dimly, and Kibum set about straightening the sheets as carefully as he could. Not gently enough apparently, because Onew rolled over again and opened his eyes a fraction.

“Shhh,” Kibum said, concentrating on folding the sheet over the edge of the blankets. He remembered the water, and smoothed the last of the blanket down with one hand, already turning back in the direction of the kitchen.

A small hand caught at his. “Stay,” Onew mumbled, tugging gently.

Kibum bit his lip. “I'm just getting-”

Onew shook his head languidly against his pillow and tugged again with surprising strength. “Stay here,” he requested, yawning a little.

Kibum glanced around. There was nothing like a chair or stool in the room, so he gave in and perched gingerly on the edge of the mattress, trying not to think of the myriad of bed related dreams about Onew he'd been suffering for the last couple of months.

Onew sighed and slumped back into sleep almost immediately. The overhead light popped off from inactivity, and Kibum couldn't quite bring himself to pull his hand out of Onew's sleep weakened grasp for far too long.

  
The front door beeped and clicked open at 6:17AM, going by Kibum’s Casio Special Edition, and the lights came up.

“Jesus Christ,” Jonghyun said, dropping a plastic shopping bag to clutch his chest. “You're still here? You're really into your job, huh?”

Kibum straightened up and swung his socked feet off the sofa guilty. “Sorry,” he said shortly, clearing his throat. He stood up and rolled his shoulders. The sofa was great, but it hadn't helped Kibum with switching off his racing brain.

At least Jonghyun looked similarly sleep deprived. His eyes and cheeks were dark and hollowed, and he was wearing the same black street clothes he'd been in at the concert, right down to the branded snapback jammed over frayed white blonde hair. The only change was the thick framed glasses he seemed to have swapped out his contacts for. Kibum's eyes itched at the sight, and he resigned himself to a couple more hours of wakefulness with the mental promise of soothing eyedrops.

Jonghyun dumped the plastic bag on the coffee table and started unpacking it. He lined up a handful of cans of iced coffee, tossing one to Kibum with a grin.

“Thanks for staying.”

Kibum nodded and rolled the still cold can across his brow and temples.

Next was a big bottle of ion restoring vitamin water, no doubt for Onew, a lone anaemic orange, clarifying eyedrops for red eyes, and two small pill bottles.

Kibum’s lips thinned.

“Breakfast?” He enquired, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his tone.

Jonghyun shrugged, pulling the tab on a coffee can. “Onew’s usually awake by now.”

“He should sleep in,” Kibum suggested. “We barely left the hospital four hours ago.”

Jonghyun shook his head, mouth full of coffee. “Mm, no. He’ll be up in a moment.”

“I really don't think that's a good idea,” Kibum insisted. “You should see his face. He's ill.”

“Make up can do amazing things.” Jonghyun said cheerily. “It's an easy day: vocal training, a couple of fan signings, and then we have a quick damage control variety appearance just to reassure the public.”

Kibum blinked in disbelief. “Have you scheduled an appointment at the hospital after all that?” He enquired mockingly. “Because that's where you'll end up, I promise you.”

Jonghyun chuckled, as if Kibum had meant to be funny.

“It's not funny.” Kibum said.

Jonghyun smiled regardless, the corners of his lips upturned wryly. “Believe me. If you worked with Onew fulltime, it would seem so.”

“You're pretty irresponsible for a manager,” Kibum said snidely.

“You're pretty invested for a security guard on such a low pay grade,” Jonghyun countered, still faintly smiling.

“Someone has to look after his best interests,” Kibum protested. “You're his boss! You’re practically telling me that you'd sacrifice his health for the sake of profits. The emergency room doctor even-” he stopped short, realising that he was about to confess that he'd been fraudulently privy to some extremely private information, accidental or not.

Jonghyun gave him a measuring look, clearly having to bite his own tongue. “Well, you seem to be invested in the role,” he said instead of the insult Kibum could see smouldering behind his impassive facade, “Since you apparently know /everything/ about Onew, how about it? Want a job?”

Kibum opened his mouth, about to retort.

“What job?”

They both turned to find Onew in his bedroom doorway, thick framed glasses sliding down his nose, and his arms bracing him on either side of the door frame.

“Meet your new personal bodyguard,” Jonghyun said, waving elaborately in Kibum’s direction.

“Hang on a second,” Kibum spluttered.

“What are you talking about?” Onew frowned. He swapped all his weight to one side, wincing but managing to free up a hand with which to rub at his eyes. “I don't need someone to watch me all the time,” Onew said, mouth downturned. “No offence meant,” he said to Kibum as a side note.

“It's fine,” Kibum said.

“Uh huh,” Jonghyun said, already tapping at his phone.

“Jonghyun!” Onew insisted.

Jonghyun glared up at him for a moment. “I thought he was your favourite? I get you your favourite, and this is how you repay me?”

“I'm not a child,” Onew said, stubbornly staring down at his slippers.

“I haven't actually signed any contracts...” Kibum interjected.

“Can you even walk?” Jonghyun hissed, jabbing his phone at Onew's slippers. “Do you want to crawl on and off the stage by yourself for the next week? Remember Buenos Aires?”

“He really shouldn't…” Kibum protested weakly. He sat back down on the absurdly new sofa as it became apparent that he was being ignored.

“You can't, huh?” Jonghyun said, victorious.

“I can…” Onew said, without conviction.

Jonghyun pressed a final button on his phone with relish, and slid it into his back pocket. “It's all been decided. You,” he pointed at Onew, “you are getting a personal bodyguard, which is long overdue, I have to say. And you,” he turned the offending finger on Kibum. “You should go home and wait for your contract.”

“But I didn't agree to-”

“Excellent, everything is settled,” Jonghyun clapped his hands.

Kibum shot a look at Onew, who was still frowning at his feet.

“Uh, goodbye,” Kibum said lamely, heading for the door.

“See you soon,” Onew mumbled, and with a soft click Kibum was back in the real world.

Kibum waited until he was a couple of blocks away before giving in to the urge to kick the crap out of the curb. Then he stepped into a Starbucks and ordered a grande and one of the big sandwiches from the barely awake barista.

“Here you are, officer,” the girl mumbled as she placed everything on the pick up stand.

“I'm not-” Kibum tried to correct her, but she was already trudging back to the coffee machine, yawning into the crook of her elbow.

Kibum sighed, straightened his uniform collar, and took a seat.

Doubly caffeinated, and slightly less irritated by hunger, Kibum located the bus station and took the first one that stopped within four blocks of his own apartment building.

“I'm home,” he muttered, sucking in familiar stale air. He unbuttoned the top of his shirt before the apartment door swung shut, and had it over his head as the lock clicked solidly.

On his last legs, Kibum hurled his whole uniform into the washing machine, stuffing in a bundle of other dark colours and a scoop of powder. Then he slapped his nearly dead phone on his desk to charge and passed out on his bed like it was an order.

He awoke to a knocking on his door. Kibum rolled over, squinting to see the time on his phone’s display. 5.24PM. No wonder he felt like shit.

He debated ignoring the door, but wondered if it mightn't be Minho come to rib him in the guise of concern.

Kibum dragged on his nicer black sweatpants and his fluffy black robe and hurried for the door, running his hands through his hair.

“Hello?” he said, swinging it open. It wasn't Minho. Some salaryman type in a suit was standing there, briefcase in one hand, fat brown envelope of papers in the other.

“Good afternoon, Mr Kim,” the man said politely. “Your contracts from SME.”

Kibum blinked, possibly still asleep.

“Please sign them and return by the prepaid courier service. Simply call the number on the front. Congratulations on your successful application.”

Kibum accepted the envelope slowly. “I didn't apply,” he said.

“Lucky for some,” the man muttered, already bowing and retreating down the corridor toward the lifts.

Kibum took the papers inside and dropped them on the table to taunt him as he called for takeout. Then he went to get his slippers. Turned on the television to see the day’s news stories (but not the entertainment news). Answered the door and paid the delivery boy for the fried chicken.

Finally, having washed the dishes, wiped down every dust collecting surface, lifted his barbells in enough sets for two days, and laid his washing out to dry, Kibum sat down at the table and opened the SME envelope, scowling as he tore right through the big red CONFIDENTIAL stamped over the sealed flap.

A thick wad of legal documents slid onto the tabletop. Kibum sighed and took up the first handful.

Flicking through just the first few revealed a number of forms and documents: guarding duty breakdown; mutually agreed release from his existing contract; a gun licence application?; a health and safety waiver; a confidentiality agreement; an annotated copy of his medical records and proficiencies from his national service - and how had they gotten that?

It was so much paper, and so ridiculously out of his league that he dropped the pages back to the tabletop and fumbled for his phone. At least Minho would get a kick out of his exasperation over the phone, if he wasn't too busy putting his kids to bed.

Before Kibum could locate his iPhone in the mess, a flash of pink caught his eye. A sticky note, pasted to a sheaf of paper at the bottom of the pile. He plucked it free. The stationery was peach coloured, actually, and shaped like a fluffy cloud.

Kibum smiled before he could help himself, and squinted at the tiny writing. He snagged his glasses from the counter where he'd left them with the takeout menus.

> Kim Kibum! Thank you for your hard work! I am sorry for having kept you out late last night. Although this morning I'm sure I sounded like a crybaby, please do consider staying out late with me again. That is to say: it would be an honour to be guarded by you! Have a wonderful night! I hope to see you in the morning.  
>  ONEW

Kibum picked up his pen.


End file.
